


Winter ghosts

by Barkingmad



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Bucky Angst, Bucky and Steve be little shits, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Internalized Homophobia, Kid Bucky Barnes, Kid Steve Rogers, M/M, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Feels, World War II, why must you hurt me in this way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1829137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkingmad/pseuds/Barkingmad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It started the same way it always had. But this time, it ended a little differently."</p><p>or</p><p>The one with how Steve and Bucky met</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter ghosts

_By the window up in the bedroom_  
_I can hear the storm come_  
_From many roads away_  
_And it brings the night_  
_If the ones who died sit around me_  
_I hope they're going to stay_  
'Winter ghosts'-JBM

I.

It started the same way it always had.

Dust under his collar and mud on his palms. Gravel biting roughly against skin and ripping through too loose trousers ( _they never fit anyway)_. The smell of earth and the lingering dampness of rainwater sat in the gutter for too long, young boys sneering with something to prove and putting kicks between his ribs because they could. Rough hands hammering down _(it’s only 3:45)_.

It only ended when the school yard was quieter and the sky a little darker, and only then would he pull himself off the ground, pick up his sketch pad and any remaining dignity he had left.

But this time it ended a little differently.

The bullies still came; some bastards kicking and spitting curses that splintered between their teeth. He wanted to disappear; he was curling up small as he could go, shrinking in on himself until there was nothing left of him but negative space.

But between the purple blue bruises and red angry words, a voice cut through, ice cold.

“What the hell are you doing!”

The group turned and shuffled nervously at the unexpected arrival, and then a particularly large looking brute stepped forward with a smirk.

“Got a problem, pal?”

“You bet I got a problem. What you beating up a kid half your size for, huh? Make you feel big and brave?”

The two boys stood staring at each other, and Steve couldn’t help but think of dogs sizing each other up and raising their hackles for a fight. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. But when no more punches came, Steve lifted his head to see a gangly boy with a pair of blue eyes, framed by short dark hair. He had his back to him, and he stood tall and rigid with fists clenched angrily.

The leader glowered “This is none of your business, stay out of it”

“You should start walking; before I break both your legs and make you crawl home instead” The newcomer spoke through gritted teeth. A smaller boy from the gang pushed forwards with a fist raised, but the leader pushed him back into place.

Suddenly the big guy barked a harsh laugh, “Alright tough guy, whatever, want to waste your time defending this bag of bones? Suit yourself. He’s not worth anything anyway…”

The stranger moved so fast Steve almost missed it, punching the leader in the face making him stagger back. The pack jeered, and the leader growled through the hand clutching his bloody nose, “Shit! Dammit you’ll be sorry, I got more friends and we’ll be back. You wait and see!” Then they were stumbling off and were finally gone.

The brown haired boy scoffed, before turning to look at Steve. The cool anger had melted away and the scowl was replaced by a tender grin. His face looked kind, but rough around the edges, like the smooth hull of a boat cracked upon the rocks, and he wore a smile as crooked and shabby as his school cap.

“You got something against running away?”

Steve sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, but he held a stubborn fire behind his eyes when he spoke. “He was being a bully, you can’t just let these kinda guys walk around picking on who they like. Besides, I had ‘em on the ropes.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow, "I got that much." He extended a dirty hand; Steve took it gladly and pulled himself up, wincing as new aches and pains made themselves known.

“Those guys bother you often?”

“Not as much as they used to. S’fine” Steve wiped his hands on his jacket.

“I think your definition of ‘fine’ is different to mine, my friend.”

“Steve”

“What?”

“My name, it’s Steve”

The other boy flashed him that shipwreck smile, “I’m Bucky.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile back. 

Bucky tilted his head, and knelt to pick something up from the ground. Steve felt heat creeping up his neck as he realised it was his sketch pad. The other boy’s eyes darted this way and that as he flicked through.

“Oi, give that here!” Steve reached for it, but he just lifted it higher and kept flicking.

“Hey give that back… oi!”

Eventually Bucky relented and returned the sketches to a flustered Steve.

“Y’know, these ‘aint half bad punk.”

Steve had a comeback on the tip of his tongue, but he looked at the other boy’s genuine awe and realized he meant what he said. He wasn’t being teased.

Steve licked his lips and blushed, “Thanks… I think.”

Bucky grinned, “Hey, maybe one day you’ll go to art school and become famous!

**~✰~**

When they both dusted themselves off and played marbles up and down the back alley, they were still smiling. And when Steve saw ‘James Buchanan Barnes’ scrawled in faded ink across the boys school bag, Bucky wrinkled his nose and complained it made him sound too posh. _(No one has called me that since my old man.)_ The air was heavy with hot static as a summer storm rolled in. And only when grey clouds loomed and thunder rumbled overhead did the two boys splash away, hair plastered to their faces with rain and laughter lighting their eyes with a wild youth. _(His were the colour of a storm at sea)._

But they stopped suddenly when Steve doubled over clutching at his chest, and eyes wide.

Bucky hurried back from where he had been charging on ahead, “You okay? Talk to me what’s wrong?”

“S’fine… just asthma…” Steve wheezed.

Bucky gently steered his friend until they were under a shop roof out of the rain.

“Okay, you’ll be okay, just sit for a minute Stevie.”

He felt like a hand was constricting around his windpipe, his breathing was shallow and thin, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air to fill his lungs. Bucky’s face was open and concerned, and he rubbed little circles on Steve’s back. After a few minutes his breathing began to even out and his fist uncurled from around his chest.

“Don’t…. don’t call me Stevie.”

Bucky grinned “What did I tell you punk, right as rain.”

They sat a little longer on the front step, and Bucky occasionally cast worried looks over at his friend, but Steve pretended not to notice.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

Bucky rolled his eyes with a small smile, “Asthma, you dummy.”

“Oh, um…” Steve thought for a moment, “I guess it’s kinda like holding your nose, whilst only being able to breathe through a straw. You just can’t get enough air.”

Bucky found one later that day, thrown out in the trash with an empty juice carton. He insisted on trying it, holding his nose with the white straw in his mouth, face scrunched up in concentration. He only lasted 30 seconds before spitting it out and gasping for breath.

“I gotta give it you Stevie, you’re pretty tough for a little guy.”

Steve elbowed him in the ribs, but inside he was glowing.

They walked the rest of the way, Bucky with an arm around Steve’s shoulders. Their breath misted in front of their faces like smoke, and Steve laughed as Bucky pretended to be a dragon from a book they found under a pile of junk. Eventually they reached Steve’s house, and they stood there for a while panting, shoes sodden and cheeks rosy.

“You should come in”.

Bucky shook his head, rain droplets falling from his chin, “I gotta be home.”

That’s when Steve’s ma opened the front door with a loud creek; she wore slippers, a blue flowered frock and a sweet sad smile that made Bucky want to be the person she thought he was.

**~✰~**

He did stay in the end, until Mrs. Rodgers had dried out his clothes by the wood burner, sat him down at their stained little table and fed him the last of the soup.

It was small but homey, a few chairs and two rickety beds were the only furniture. Something was cooking on the stove, it didn’t look like much but it smelt warm and delicious, better than any canned food. Bucky felt slightly out of place, but then he spotted a pair of dog tags hanging on the wall, old, dull and covered in a fine layer of dust.

His eyes lit up, _“Now this was something familiar_ ” he thought. “Was your dad in the army too!”

Steve puffed out his chest with a nod, but he became suddenly very interested in his shoes. His ma said his dad left himself in no man’s land, that the man that came back, drinking more than ever, throwing glass bottles around and shouting until their little house shook, was not his dad. She said his dad died on the front line, it didn’t matter that his body came back walking and talking. Then a few years ago when he finally drank too much, did he really die for good.

Mrs. Rogers pulled out the chairs with a loud squeak and set two bowels of steaming soup down in front of the two boys. “Eat up!” she smiled.

The two had been laughing and kicking each other under the table when Mrs. Rodgers spoke again. Her eyes sparkled kindly as she turned to the urchin boy scooping spoonful’s of broth into his mouth. “Where are your parents, sweetie?”

Bucky slouched in his chair and fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve. “Salem fields ma’am”. Steve thought his new friend looked suddenly very small.

Mrs. Rogers blinked, her mouth forming a small ‘oh’. She didn’t hesitate in placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezing it tightly. “You will always have a home here, alright son?”

_(In the morning, Mrs. Rodgers would take the purple flower from her bedside table and plant it in the cemetery by two stone heads covered in vines. “You’ve got a good son. I’ll keep an eye on him.”)_

Eventually the rain eased up, so Bucky turned to give a wave goodbye and a promise to meet tomorrow, before walking with hunched shoulders down the muddy track.

 

II.

One morning, Bucky found Steve with his back against the wall, swinging his fists desperately in self-defence. A broad shouldered boy loomed over him, hands gripped in the lapels of his jacket, shoving him against the wall and laughing in his face. Steve had his eyes screwed shut tight, as if maybe he couldn’t see what was happening, he could persuade himself it wasn’t.

But they snapped open when he heard footsteps and looked past the bully and saw Bucky standing there stubbornly. Steve met his gaze with scared eyes filled with hope, like a damned man looking up at his salvation.

“Pick on someone your own size, Frank”

‘Frank’ turned around with a sneer, “If you say so tough guy”. He suddenly let go of Steve and he hit the ground hard, yelping as stone cut into his hands and knees.

The bully swaggered forward, making Bucky take a step back. “I know you … You’re the General’s kid ain’t you.” Disgust was written all over his face. “He died a coward if you ask me.”

Bucky clenched his hands into fists, “Well good thing no one’s asking you then” He spat through gritted teeth.

Frank snorted “Y’know probably for the best he died. Dunno if he could live down having a queer for a son.”

Bucky breathed hard through his nose as the beginnings of tears stung his eyes. “I ain’t no queer, so you can just quit it alright?”

They boy barked a harsh laugh, “That’s what they all say… You know-”

Frank never saw Steve get to his feet, eyes hard and angry. He never saw him step forward, drawing back his thin arm… and he never saw the punch coming. It hit him hard, and for a moment Steve felt smug, for once giving a bruise back. But the feeling disappeared as quickly as it came. The bully knelt there on the ground, hand over a reddening cheek and staring hatefully up at the two boys.

“You dam fags! Don’t think this is over!” Frank staggered to his feet and ran, shouting profanities over his shoulder.

Steve looked over to his friend, and immediately he deflated; all the anger leaving him. “You okay?”

Bucky slipped on a charming smile. “I’m good.” His eyes moved up and down Steve looking for injury. He frowned worriedly, “You’re bleeding…” He knelt down and dabbed at Steve’s grazed knees with his sleeve, carefully as the rough wool would allow.

“You know him?”

Bucky bit his lip, “We met briefly back home.”

Steve was silent for a while before he spoke again. “Thanks Buck, he had this dame cornered and she looked so scared…I mean, I could have handled him though, I could have-”

“I know you could”

The dark haired boy lifted his head to glance upwards at Steve, and they shared a knowing smile.

Hands in pockets, they walked slowly down the street in silence. Memories tumbled noisily over thought, filling up the space between them. But their minds were still too young to ponder long on the meaning of things, and soon they were laughing again; sweat on their backs, mud on their palms and something a little like love in their eyes.

**~✰~**

After school, Bucky taught Steve to catch rats.

“You gotta get ‘em quick- before they make a family and eat you out of house and home. Catch ’em by the tail, Stevie. They bite your hands otherwise.”

They found one in an alley, neck broken and mangled. A stray dog stood over it, snarling with glazed eyes and rib bones jutting through a grimy pelt. Steve is sick on his shoes. They get the worst off on the grass verge, but it stains the leather a sickly yellow. _(His mother wouldn’t let Bucky in the house for 2 days after that)_

So Steve sneaked out. They met by the dumpster, and ran up and down the back alleys of Brooklyn, brandishing sticks for swords and questing for monsters to slay. _(They were never looking in the right places)_. Sometimes they would stop outside Mrs. Yates shop and stare with wide eyes and drool on their chins through the window. Bakeries and sweet iced cakes filled the shelves; delicate, delicious and so far out of reach.

Or sometimes in the evenings, they would just sit and talk, about everything and anything. There was a wooden bench on the outskirts of town, next to a quiet road where only the occasional car would pass.

“So when is your birthday?”

Bucky bit his lip and kicked at a loose stone. Steve took his hesitation as reluctance to share, so he poked him on the shoulder, “Come on, I told you mine is July 4th, It’s only fair.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?!” Steve swung his legs impatiently.

“I was never told”.

Steve frowned in thought, staring determinedly at the floor. “What if we made up your birthday, you could have any day you want!” He looked up, studying Bucky for a moment, eyes darting across his face. “You look like you should have a winter birthday.”

Bucky scoffed, “Outta every dam day, why winter? Winter is cold and you ain’t got nothing to eat. He glanced sideways at the blond boy, “’Sides, you always get sick in winter.”

Steve shrugged, staring up at the sky. “I suppose. But it’s kinda beautiful. There’s snow everywhere, and it covers the city all in white, then there’s the frost that patterns windows and spider webs. And the sunsets in winter are so much brighter; they’re purple and red and reflect off the ice and…and it’s beautiful.”

Bucky grinned, eyes glinting playfully. “Aw Steve I never knew I meant so much to ya”

“Shuddup!” Steve hit him on the arm.

  
**~✰~**

“We can’t do this, Buck.”

“Sure we can. We ain’t doing no damage. Just… taking a little look around”

The two were sat in an expensive looking car. It was one of the new models; a sleek red Cadillac with large shiny wheels and an open top. It was parked outside the movie theatre basking in the silver light of the moon; its owner busy inside. Faint music swept out the front door into the cool night, and down the street two dogs barked. Apart from that, everything was silent.

“They could be back any second”

“Shuddup and take a look at the rims on this… Imagine driving it!”

Steve tapped his foot nervously, apprehension coiling round his lungs and making it hard to breathe, but he sighed and bit the bullet. Bucky was stubborn, and once he had his mind made up there was no persuading him otherwise. Steve didn’t share his friend’s sense of reckless rebellion, but even he couldn’t help but admire the grand car. They smoothed their hands over the leather, the metal steering wheel and all the buttons whispering “What does this do? What about that? Why do you need so many gears?” They were so engrossed they didn’t notice the film finish, or the people that started to filter out through the doors.

A shrill scream pierced the calm. “What are you doing?!”

The two boys whipped around so fast their heads spun.

A slight woman with a perm and too much makeup stood not three meters away, looking right at them in horror. “Stop right there! You good for nothing scoundrels, that’s my car!”

They tumbled out and legged it around the corner. They kept running until the shouting faded out of earshot; Steve’s lungs burned and his feet ached, but Bucky kept pulling him along by the hand. Wolfish grins on their faces but hearts beating fast as mice, eventually the two boys slumped against a brick wall, gasping for breath and giggling with hysteria.

When they had calmed down, Bucky sighed and glanced up at the sky. It was splashed with mauve and midnight blue, and the stars were starting to peer down from the heavens. “I gotta be home”

Steve turned to his friend, frowning. “Where is your home?”

Bucky lifted a hand and pointed to the opposite hill. He could just make out the sign-

[U.S ARMY BASE, CAMP LEHIGH]

“My dad was an officer, well before… they say it was an accident. His mates let me stay, kept an eye on me. I never fancied boarding school…”

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, but after a while Steve added softly, “What about your ma?”

Bucky just shook his head, and pointed up towards the evening sky.

  
**~✰~**

When Steve came home with skinned knees, his mother tutted at the hole in his trousers and forced him to eat the last of the bread. The weather was colder now and Steve breathed through pain tightened lips, but the look on his ma’s face made him bite his tongue. She was looking paler now; dark circles hung under her eyes like shadows in a morning fog. When she wasn’t working at the hospital, she was lying stiffly in bed, sleeping fitfully. It was in those moments Steve thought she looked so fragile; an autumn leaf hanging on by a thread, all skeleton and hollow veins. And maybe this winter it would be too cold, too harsh, and a single breeze would send her falling through space.

But when Steve worried over her, she would smile and shake her head. _(Don’t worry about me she always said, but who else was going to?)_.She called him darling and kissed his forehead, before hurrying away to spit red into the sink.

So Steve lay in bed and coughed into his pillow, tossing and turning, wheezing in the damp air that scratched his throat and burnt his lungs, and still the rats ran circles round his bed and chattered in high pitched voices. The blankets smelt of cooking and his mother’s perfume, and he squeezed his eyes shut trying to wash away the image of red blood spattered on white porcelain.

 

III.

The first thing Steve noticed was the noise; lowered voices, shoes clicking on hard floors and the racket of wheels on rubber. It tugged at his unconsciousness, pulling him out of the warm embrace of sleep. There was an overpowering smell of _clean_ , and he frowned, trying to shift away from the unpleasant smell. When it remained, he tried to lift his heavy eyelids; but immediately snapped them shut again. Everything was so blindingly _white_. After a moment, he tried opening them again, slower this time, letting everything blur back into focus, and the whiteness recede into… a hospital room.

Panic clawed its way up Steve’s throat;

“ _They didn’t have the money for this; they couldn’t afford it his mum would get in trouble”_.

He tried to struggle out of the thin bed sheets wrapped around him, but his arms were so heavy and his throat felt hot and tight.

“Easy punk, you’ll strain something.”

His heart leapt at the familiar voice, and eventually the voice matched a blurry face that was slowly coming into focus.

“Bucky?”

“Right here”

“What happened… why…”

Bucky’s mouth hardened into a thin line, “You passed out on me Stevie, you wouldn’t come around no matter how much I shook you, then, well then you stopped breathing….” He narrowed his eyes “Don’t ever do that to me again”

Steve grimaced, trying to pull himself up into a sitting position. “It’s alright Buck, I’m alright” He managed a small smile. “What did the doctors say?”

The dark haired boy turned from Steve, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Tell me Buck! What did they say?”

“Well they said something’s… something isn’t quite right with your heart, and your lungs aren’t great at being lungs right now”, Bucky winced; the words were a punch in his gut. “But the doc is gonna fix it Steve, whatever it is. Don’t you worry about it okay.”

Steve’s face grew panicked, “But my ma, she can’t pay for it…”

Both boys turned suddenly as a young woman pulled back the separating curtain. She was dressed in a white frock and apron, and a nurse’s cap was perched on top of her fair hair.

She started, seeing an extra boy in the room and scowled. “Get outta here boy, you don’t wanna catch anything do you? Come on, out with you”

Bucky dug his heels in, but eventually the nurse managed to herd him out. Before he left, he tossed Steve a reassuring smile.

The nurse perched on the edge of the bed. “You’re Steve Rogers, am I correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The stethoscope was cold against his bare skin, but the nurse was kind and her touch was gentle as she moved the small metal circle around his chest and over his back, listening carefully.

Steve licked his lips, “Ma’am… do you know what’s wrong with me?”

“You’ll be just fine” She glanced up, a picture perfect smile on her face but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 _“That doesn’t answer my question”_ the young boy frowned but bit his tongue.

She took out a small needle from her pocket, filled with a clear liquid. ‘Aminophylline’ she called it. To help him breathe.

“I’m going to need you to be brave for me alright?” She pressed the sharp metal into his arm and pressed the plunger down, and Steve looked straight ahead without so much as a wince.

She scribbled something down on a clipboard and hurried out once again to talk with the doctor. Steve strained to hear anything, but all he could do was watch their silhouettes against the cloth curtain, cast by the bedside lamp. His heart jumped unevenly in his chest, like a mismatched drum and he tried taking a few deep breaths to calm it. It didn’t work.

**~✰~**

“Pssstt….”

Steve blinked, confused to where the noise was coming from. He pushed himself up onto bony elbows and stilled, listening for it again. _“Was he going crazy? Had he finally snapped?”_

“PSSST!”

He knew that voice alright. “Bucky?” he whispered, looking around.

A Shock of dark hair appeared under the curtain and, _speak of the devil,_ Bucky wriggled under and back into Steve’s sector. He scrambled to his feet, and with a ‘humph’ he plonked himself down onto the bed, making the mattress creak noisily.

“Watcha doing Buck, you could catch something!”

“Thought you could use some company, thas’all.” His brows creased in thought and he took a breath, “do you know what they’re saying yet?”

The smaller boy sighed, “No. not yet. But even so what difference is it going to make… can’t afford whatever treatment there is either way.”

Steve caught the other boy’s eye, and they seemed to have some kind of silent conversation before Steve’s eyebrows shot up “Wait no… no don’t you dare, I-”

“We need to get some money Steve; you’re not going to get it any other way”

Steve curled his hands up into fists at his side, “Stealin’ is wrong, Buck.”

The dark haired boy opened his mouth to interrupt, but Steve cut him off with a glare, “No, whatever happens we will sort through, _without_ breaking the law, I-” He broke off as a series of coughs racked his small frame and he bent double, trying to hack up his lungs. When he had finished his eyes were glistening and he looked worriedly pale, sweat beaded on his forehead and he was trembling where he lay.

“Just lay back down okay? Take it easy…”

Steve licked his lips and croaked out “S’fine” before shakily lowering himself back down onto the pillows. He didn’t object to the hands supporting him, which worried Bucky even more. Steve didn’t like to be helped with anything if there was the smallest chance he could do it himself.

“Please Buck, we’ll be fine just don’t… don’t. Please, for me”

Bucky groaned and laid his head down on the side of the bed.

_“If it was anyone but Steve…”_

But he was looking at Bucky with those big soppy blue eyes, and he couldn’t say no. He didn’t want to let him down. He couldn’t be the reason for the saddened look on his face. He couldn’t.

“Alright Stevie, just cause you ask so sweetly” He smirked.

Steve had settled back down into the pillow, chest heaving with the occasional cough, but his eyes were closed and he was soon asleep, wheezing in the thin air. He looked almost peaceful if not for the small frown pinching his face, and the dark circles under his eyes. When Nurse Mary came in to check on Steve, she was surprised to see another boy slumped in a chair, head resting on the single bed. His dark hair was messy, and he snored softly as he slept.

The nurse couldn’t help but smile as she backed out quietly so not to wake them.

**~✰~**

It was late in the evening before his ma finished her shift; tugging off her apron and hurrying to the opposite ward. She crouched by Steve’s bedside and stroked a shaky hand through her son’s hair. “Oh my darling, whatever has happened…” she murmured, almost to herself. Her voice wobbled, but she kept her chin high, even as tears welled and threatened to spill.

Steve was drifting in the dark suffocating space between sleep and wakefulness. Snatches of conversation were mixing with feverish dreams, trapping him in a confusing swathe he couldn’t struggle out of. It muffled his thoughts and weighed heavy on his chest, crushing his lungs and making every breath painful. He thought he heard his mother singing, hushed voices, pen scribbling on paper and Bucky rambling on about anything just to keep the silence at bay. Then someone was reaching into his chest and squeezing his heart, twisting it in their clenched fist and trying to pull it out through his throat. He thrashed but it held tight, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see.

“ _This is what it must feel like to drown.”_ He thought hazily.

Then he shuddered, and blessedly the silence took him.

When he came to, everything was blurred and his head pounded. Bucky’s face faded into view, worry written in the creases of his brow. Then his was replaced by Doctor’s with harsh white masks covering their mouths. When he woke properly this time, they told him his heart had stopped.

Bucky was curled up at the end of the bed, limbs tucked together awkwardly to fit on the thin mattress, but when Steve woke, groggy and confused, he was at his side in an instance.

“You gave us one hell of a scare there Stevie, don’t ever do that again.” Bucky put on a brave face, but Steve could tell he was shaken.

“You won’t get rid of me that easy” he smiled weakly back.

“Punk”

“Jerk”

His mother sat in a chair beside him, face grim. She held an official looking piece of paper between her hands; block letters staring blankly out at him with the Doctors official diagnoses.

HEART ARRHYTHMIA  
HYPERTHROPHIC CARDIOMYOPATHY  
PULMONARY ODEMA

**~✰~**

After a few days, he was moved out of hospital and back home with strict orders to stay indoors and avoid strenuous activities. Bucky was dragged to school kicking and screaming every day, but he always rushed straight back.

It was raining again, and the young boy pulled his cap further down onto his head as he pattered across the tarmac and down the dirt road, panting little puffs of fog into the cold air. As soon as he reached the right house, he hammered on the wood with his fist and when it opened just wide enough to squeeze through, he was running across the floorboards, only slowing to call back:

“Afternoon Ms. Rogers!”

He shed his grey school jacket and hung it on the heater before poking his head around the bedroom door.

“How y’ doing Steve?”

No reply.

“Steve? Y’here?”

“No, I decided to hike to Mexico” A small voice quipped from under a mound of blankets. “Where else would I be, dumbass. Not allowed out.”

Bucky dumped his school bag down on the floor. “That bad huh?”

He stared at the messy blond hair sticking out from between the sheets and grinned, “Y’know what you need?”

There was no noise from the bed, but the stillness suggested Steve was listening and Bucky took this as invitation to continue, “A blanket fort!”

Rustling. Then a dishevelled looking Steve poked his head out with a mischievous smile on his face, “Now you’re talking some sense”

He started to untangle himself with some difficulty, and would have rolled out of bed onto the floor if Bucky hadn't caught him just in time.

"Okay, you tell me what you wanna do and I'll do the lifting and things."

At first Steve protested, wanting to take part in the action, but he quickly adjusted to the role of 'Bossy boots' as Bucky so eloquently put it. They passed pillows around and Bucky rearranged the mattress, tied up blanket corners, and dragged in a few chairs from the kitchen. By the time they were finished, night was pressing cold and dark against the windows. Steve and Bucky were sprawled across the floor in semi-darkness, a flashlight sat between them pointing towards the ceiling, and when they moved it made their shadows dance against the white plaster. A winter wind was picking up, whistling through the cracks in the walls and making Steve shiver.

“Put this round you”

“I can’t take yours too, you’ll be cold!”

Bucky scoffed, “I 'aint the one going to be catching pneumonia, now shuddup and put this round you”. Bucky held out his own ratty blanket and Steve took it reluctantly, wrapping it around his small frame. But stubbornly, his lips stayed tinged with blue.

“Get over here punk, you’re not gunna fade away on my watch.” The brunette rolled his eyes and shuffled closer to his friend.

Steve fitted perfectly between his arms; Bucky’s chin resting on top of his head, and holding him close to his chest. He could feel Steve’s heart beating slow and unsteadily;

_‘One two, one, one two three, one, one two’_

Like a dancer tripping over their toes, not quite matching the rhythm.

_‘One two, one, one two three’_

Waltzing when it should be marching.

They whispered in the dark, and talked until there was nothing else to say; their words took them round the world. They joked and told stories _(partly to distract themselves from the cold, and partly because the dark was so expansive, so heavy and vast, that only their hushed voices seemed to hold it at bay.)_

Bucky grinned into the mop of blond hair, “Hey, you ever heard the story of Ol’ Tommy Baxter?” Steve rolled over to face him, eyes just peeking over the top of the blanket, eyebrows raised. “Nah can’t say I have. But I got a feelin’ you’re about to tell me anyways”

Bucky’s eyes lit up with glee,“Well my pa said ‘Ol Tommy Baxter was a war veteran from England. Well one day he’s out patrolling no man’s land with a few fellas when he gets captured by Germans. But these weren’t normal Germans, nah they were bigger, tougher, with steel armour and cold, dead eyes.”

Steve could feel Bucky’s breath on his neck, and a tingle ran up his spine. Fear twisted in his gut and crawled up his throat.

“But they haven’t seen his friends yet, so he tells ‘em to get down and outta sight, so they go for cover whilst Baxter gets marched off to the other side and outta sight.”

“What happened to him?”

Bucky licked his lips, pausing for effect, and Steve leaned in closer. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath. “No one knows, not for sure. His mates wanted to mount a rescue mission but it was shut down before anyone knew what was going on. Some say the Germans killed him straight out, but some say he was held for months, information being pried outta him ‘bout the front line.”

“But one night there’s this awful storm, and whilst the soldiers are sleepin’ in their barracks, there is this loud CRACK-” Bucky smacked his hands together, making the other boy jump, “-and the door goes flying off its hinge. Now Baxter’s mate was asleep, but he jumps awake when he sees a figure standing in the door way, ghostly white and pointing a finger straight at him. He lights a lantern, and he swears he sees ‘Ol Tommy staring right at him. Then there’s another CRACK, and he’s gone. Apparently he visited him every night in his sleep, and eventually… well Baxter’s mate can’t take it anymore. So he runs out into no man’s land, and soon enough… well, he’s lying in the mud full of bullets.”

Steve breathed out with low sigh, “That’s just a story to scare people, it couldn’t be real.” He rolled back onto his side, hiding his troubled frown. When he blinked, vivid images of the dead soldier reeled in his mind; torn uniform, a pale face spattered with dark red, eyes staring sightlessly up into the rain.

Bucky shrugged, shifting back down under the blankets. “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows anything these days.” Each boy grew lost in their own thoughts, and silence settled between them.

Steve was the first to break it. “Mrs. Whitaker next door said that wasn’t the last of it, that there’s gunna be another war.”

The brunette chuckled, “She also said the apocalypse was coming. I don’t know about you, but I don’t see any frogs falling from the sky.” His voice softened, “Don’t worry Stevie, nothing bad is gunna happen to you. Not so long as I’m around.”

Outside, grey clouds gave way to rain. It beat out a staccato rhythm on the pane, and the two boys couldn’t help but hear the ‘rat-a-tat-tat’ of gun fire in every drop. And in similar houses across the country, words were whispered behind closed shutters.  
_‘War._ _War is coming.’_

 **~✰** **~**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> 


End file.
